Page 44 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

Mara pushes a sheet of paper over the desk at me. “This is the list of tasks I would like you to eventually take over.” She points at the first section of the text. “And this is your salary. It will increase with time and experience, but we’ll ease you into the work.” She grins at me, her white tusks flashing. “I don’t want to overwhelm you and send you running.”

I blink down at the paper. “My salary?”

Mara pauses, then clears her throat. “Oh. I suppose I should have asked you how much you were making at your parents’ inn so we can at least match that.”

I put my hand over hers to stop her. My throat hurts suddenly, so I swallow to clear it. “I wasn’t,” I croak.

She frowns. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Dawn presses her lips together and squeezes her baby tight to her chest, and I know she understands. She’s human, and she knows how things are in the human world.

“I wasn’t making any money,” I tell Mara. “I received food and board, and a good room at that. I always had enough. And Father would give me pocket money sometimes for dresses and books and such.”

Her delicate black eyebrows draw together in a frown. “But you worked for them every day, no? At the inn?”

“Yes.” I look at Dawn for help. “This is just how it’s done. I-I don’t expect you to…” I point at the door, toward the great hall. “I mean, you serve three delicious meals. I get access to the baths, and I have a place to sleep.”

Mara groans and covers her face with her hands. “I swear, I will never understand humans,” she groans. “Is this really how they treat people? Or is it just women?”

Dawn pats her on the shoulder. “It’s a bit of both, I think. And not everyone is like that.”

Yes, some humans are worse.

The thought pops up, because that’s what my parents always used to say when they reminded me of how good I had it. I could have had a much more terrible childhood—and I know I was lucky to have grown up as I did. But it did put me at a disadvantage, compared to the maids who worked at the inn. Yes, they shared rooms in the attic, and their dresses weren’t as nice as mine, but they were paid weekly in copper and silver coins, and they could do whatever they wanted with that money.

More and more, I suspect that my parents might have been wrong in how they treated me. I can’t turn back the time—and I don’t really want to talk to them in order to demand they change their ways.

But maybe that means I don’t have to keep doing what they wanted. Perhaps I can demand more for myself, and if the orcs do things differently, if they pay their people fairly, I don’t have to push away the opportunity.

I clear my throat again and tap the sheet of paper Mara presented me with. “I find the salary you’re offering very reasonable.”

Mara peers through her fingers. “Thank the gods. I thought I was going to have to do a speech on how important it is for a woman to have her own money.”

Dawn grins at me. “Well done, Jasmine. Now, I’ll have to leave you, unfortunately. Little Arvel needs to be changed.”

When she opens the office door, the king is there again. Apparently, he’d waited for Dawn, and now he takes the smelly baby from her arms without complaint. Dawn winks at me, then closes the door behind her.

“You don’t know how strange this is,” I murmur.

Mara watches me curiously. “What is?”

I motion at the door. “That a man might concern himself with raising babies, let alone a king.”

Her expression falls. “Are human men really all that bad?”

Something in her gaze has me considering my words. I don’t want to be flippant or dismissive, not when this apparently means something to her.

“No,” I say. “I’ve met good men. And my father wasn’t bad, only…set in his ways.”

“But you came to the orc lands to seek a husband,” she presses, “instead of going to Ultrup, for example.”

I chew on my lip, because I did do that. “I had a bad experience with one man. My fiancé, who left me at the altar. And I heard from Rose and Ivy how wonderful orcs were.”

Mara’s expression falls. “Oh.”

She looks so forlorn, I reach out and grasp her hand. Her fingers are longer than mine, but her palm is softer, her skin unblemished and smooth. I don’t know what’s bothering her, but I need to make her feel better, so I tell her something I’d been thinking of.

“I resent Ansel for not telling me he was planning on running away,” I say. “He could have executed that part of his plan better. But he did act out of love.” I squeeze Mara’s fingers between mine. “He loved his sweetheart so much, he gave up his entire family and a very advantageous marriage in order to be with her. I imagine his new wife is very happy with him.”

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